


Nothing To Do But Wait

by Jyllean



Series: Seal Upon My Heart [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jyllean/pseuds/Jyllean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our heroes don't communicate about their feelings.  Such a surprise.  The first story in a four story arc; continued in Phantom, followed by A Seal Upon Your Heart and A Perfect Storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing To Do But Wait

## Nothing To Do But Wait

#### by Jyllean

  
  
Did you ever write the middle of your English paper before the beginning? Yeah, me too. My apologies for the first last  well, you know what I mean.  
  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

Nothing To Do But Wait 

Blair stretched, pulling his fists to his ears with his elbows spread wide, releasing the uncomfortably stiff muscles in his neck and back. Hours of study, hunched alternately over his research materials and laptop, had taken their toll. That didn't count the afternoon student conferences, and the grading that had taken the hours around dinnertime. He yawned. It had been an epic session, but even he had limits. The last battery in the Energizer Bunny was fading fast. 

He glanced at the clock and sighed. After midnight. Fortunately, Jim was on an all-night stakeout. Joel Taggart agreed to take Blair's normal spot, or else he never would have been able to string together so many hours of academic pursuits. Time was an unremitting problem. There were just never enough hours in the day or the week to manage the duties of a teaching fellow, a police observer, and Jim's backup. Having a separate social life was becoming a distant, fading concern. 

Blair knew he fit every clich ever written: burning the midnight oil, burning the candle at both ends, and on occasion, burnt out. Crispy critter time. Question was, did these occasional moments of self-knowledge really help? Did he plan any better? Set more reasonable goals? Cut back on something? The honest answer was, "No." He made do, with marathon study sessions, or sleepless nights, or a blessed, merciful Sunday morning when he actually slept until noon. 

Blair leaned back in his creaky desk chair. Nope, honesty wasn't getting him anywhere. If anything, he felt more conflicted. He had a harder and harder time keeping things together, and felt worse about it in the process. The night off had been Jim's idea, but even that well-intentioned gesture felt hollow. 

Being a detective was hazardous work for anyone; Jim's abilities only made it more treacherous. Jim had come so far, but even with increased control, he still needed a knowledgeable back-up. Jim accepted that. At least, Blair thought he did. If someone had asked him six months ago, he would have answered with confidence. Now, he wasn't entirely sure. 

Since their mutual near-disasters with Alex, something had changed in their relationship. Blair just couldn't get a handle on it. In public settings, especially at the station, Jim seemed irritable and impatient. On more than one occasion, Blair suspected that he wanted to end their project. During the awful stretch with Ventriss, he'd been sure of it. Put in that light, Jim's sudden willingness to cut him some time to work on the dissertation seemed more like an invitation to leave, and to do it soon. 

It wasn't just the public part of their job. When they were in private, the contrast was unnerving. Jim reversed course, sometimes behaving more like the overprotective parent of a toddler. Blair had to admit, he hadn't bounced back from drowning overnight. He tried to cooperate, if for no other reason than to reassure Jim, but his lungs were never completely clear, no matter what antibiotic he choked down. Jim fussed over his roommate's late hours, fretted about his diet and general health. A headache or a sneeze, and Jim was ready to rush him to the hospital. No amount of protest reassured him. 

The inconsistencies didn't end there. Unlike Jim's occasionally hostile demeanor when they were together at work, the patina of anger seemed to evaporate. At home, he sought assistance with every minor sensory obstacle, and seemed to crave physical proximity. Jim consistently crowded his personal space: a hand on the small of the back, an arm around the shoulder, knee to knee at dinner. From a lover it would have been intimate. From Jim, it was simply confusing. Nothing seemed to fit together. 

When Blair headed off for the university, it wasn't unusual for Jim to call several times to check on him, or even show up with coffee or a meal. Tonight had been no exception. Jim had called before he and Taggart left the station, and again around ten. Did Jim want more space, or less? Did he want their arrangement to end or continue? Blair was sure something was going on, and he was just as certain an explanation from Jim wasn't on the horizon. 

Maybe Jim didn't know either, or maybe he couldn't put it into words. 

Not that he was doing any better than Jim. For weeks now, concentration came only with great effort. His once-stable academic life was a mess. No matter how hard he worked to stay focused, his thoughts inexorably drifted back to Jim. Initially, he blamed it on being a little sick and run down, but that was a copout, and Blair knew it. So much for being in touch with your feelings. Naomi would have a fit. 

Blair stood up flexed his shoulders again. He'd leave that worry for another day and enjoy the present. Today had been an exception. He'd cranked out an astonishing amount of work. For someone apparently doomed to play catch-up, a decent day for academics was a cause for celebration. His grading was caught up. He'd written both a test for 101, and his paper for Dr. Connelly, which wasn't due until next Wednesday. Both needed a little more polish, but he'd do a better job if he set them aside for a bit and came back with fresh eyes. It was a good time to call it a day, go back to the loft, and fall into bed with a clear conscience. 

Blair loaded his backpack and retrieved his jacket, jiggling the Volvo keys in his hands. Now that he'd quit working, fatigue was definitely setting in. Too many early mornings for school and late nights for the department. The three late stakeouts this week with Jim before Taggart volunteered drained a lot of energy. He yawned again as he slowly ambled down the hall and exited the building. Keeping his eyes open during the drive home was going to be a struggle. As he stepped outside, he shrugged off the jacket, letting the chill, damp Cascade night rouse him. He'd be shivering by the time he got to the Volvo, but at least he'd be awake. 

He dreaded being cold, but for the moment, the temperature brought a pleasant tingle to his skin. The irony of it all tickled his fancy as he stood on the wide steps of Hargrove Hall, breathing in the night air. He could see the undergraduate dorms, and imagined the intoxicated carousing going on in those hallways. In the neighborhoods a few blocks away, populated by Greek houses and graduate students, the social pursuits would be equally enthusiastic. In contrast, here was Blair Sandburg, the guy who used to double book dates, the wunderkind who multitasked in diapers, spending a Friday night studying late, and grateful for it. He must be getting old. 

The crisp night air really was a relief after too many hours inside. Walking the quiet, near deserted campus always felt comfortable and calming. Jim never approved, but Blair never felt afraid crossing Rainier, no matter what time of night it was. Not that he was entirely alone. He heard voices in the distance, a group of students heading back to the residence halls. From the sound of it, they'd been enjoying themselves pretty thoroughly. He smiled to himself. Maybe a discussion of mating rituals on the American college campus would add some relevance to Monday's Anthro 101 lecture. 

The group, men and women, came into view, walking towards him. It was almost comical how they quieted in the presence of an audience, trying to pull themselves together. "Evening," Blair said pleasantly as he passed, amused at the stifled giggle from one of the girls. He couldn't see her face, but it was probably one of his freshman students, embarrassed at being caught partying. He left them behind, their happy conversations fading into the night. He strolled on, beginning to feel the chill, when other voices attracted his attention. 

"I wanna go with my friends." 

"Come on, baby. Stay." 

"Sherrie has m' key. Catsch up." 

"You don't need to go home." 

Blair stopped. A man and a woman, both young, both very drunk by the sound of it. They were screened from his view. Something in the girl's voice didn't sound right. The conversation, or maybe the argument, continued, muffled and unintelligible. Blair took a few more steps, slowly, somehow unwilling to walk away. 

"Lemme go. Don't wanna." 

Now she sounded scared. He heard a slap, and then another. This wasn't good. He turned back, and a girl stumbled out of the darkness, running into him. She nearly toppled over. Blair dropped his jacket as he steadied her. She was petite, dark haired, and smelt of alcohol with a hint of pot. 

A tall young man, wearing a Jags shirt staggered into view. He was tall, maybe taller than Jim, with a stormy expression. He ignored Blair completely, grabbed the girl's hand and tugged. "Come on, you bitch." 

She struggled, very ineffectively. "No. G'way." Blair pulled her back, wrapping both arms around her to keep her upright. This was getting ugly. 

"That's enough," he said firmly. "She doesn't want to go. Take off." 

"Says who?" the guy said aggressively, giving Blair a shove. "She's with me." 

Damn. Where was Jim when he needed him? Blair tried for the most authoritative voice possible. "And now she's saying 'no', but you aren't listening. No means no. Go home and sleep it off." 

"Mind your own business!" the younger man roared, listing to one side. 

"You're a student, aren't you?" Blair took a wild guess. He had the look of an athlete. "On scholarship? Which sport? It's easy enough to find out." 

"What's it to you?" he said resentfully. At least the question took him back a moment. 

"Cause it wouldn't be a good idea to assault a faculty member." Okay, a bit of an overstatement, but all in a good cause. "I'll walk her home. This is over. Tomorrow you'll be grateful." Blair tucked the girl under his arm. She was weaving badly, but he wanted to get some distance between them and her onetime companion. He sighed in relief when the young man threw a few profanities in their direction, but in the end, stomped off. 

"What's your name?" 

"L - Lusscy." 

"Okay, Lucy, what dorm?" 

"He'ssh a - jerk," she said almost losing her balance as she said it. He was going to have a time getting her home before she passed out. 

"Yep. Give me a building." 

"Jamsh'n." Her head drooped. 

Blair sighed. At least Jamison was close. Right on cue, it started to rain. Perfect. 

He had to beat on the door for a full five minutes before he roused the RA and got Lucy inside. The RA was annoyed until she realized what was happening. "Freshmen. It never ends," she said in exasperation. "Sometimes this job isn't worth the tuition waver." 

Blair laughed. "I hear that." 

"Sandburg, isn't it? Anthro?" He nodded, and the RA grinned. "Tell me that teaching one of the main freshmen intro courses is any different." 

It was his turn to smile. "Pretty close. 'Good morning, class. This is your textbook. In college we actually read them.' It goes downhill from there. You'll get her to bed?" 

"Yeah, and ream out her friends for not watching out for her better. Just part of the job. I'm Cara Dean, by the way," she said, shaking Blair's hand over the back of their charge. They maneuvered Lucy to the common room and got her out of her wet coat. She sprawled on the couch. "Whoa. What's this?" Cara asked. 

Blair looked. In the lighted room, finger marks showed on Lucy's wrists, and bruises were rising on her arms. The print of a man's hand stood out in red on her cheek. 

"She was with a guy. It didn't sound good." 

"I need to call campus security," Cara said grimly. "He must have slapped her around. This looks like it was assault, heading for date rape." Blair hung around while Cara got through to the security office and explained the situation. When he motioned, she handed off the phone to him. "Hi, this is Blair Sandburg. I'm a TA in Anthro. Yes, I'm the one who found her. Can you take my statement tomorrow? I've been working for hours and I'm beat. Yeah. No, I don't know the guy's name. Tomorrow at eight? I'm at 852 Prospect. Great, then I'll head on home. Yeah, I can do that. Sure, here she is." 

He returned the phone to Cara and she hung up after arranging a few more details. "They're on their way over," she said. "They'll try to get a statement and take some pictures for evidence." She shook her head regretfully. "Not much doubt in my mind what happened. I'll track down the girls she went out with. With any luck, at least one of them came back early." 

They said their goodbyes, and Blair let himself out. Standing in the dimly lit entrance, he checked his watch. His hope to be home in bed by one was now a bad joke. It dawned on him that he ought to give Jim a call. He looked for his coat and groaned. He had the backpack, but not the jacket. He vaguely remembered dropping his jacket during those first tense moments with what's-his-name. Once his hands were full with Lucy, he'd forgotten to pick it up. No jacket meant no phone, and no car keys, for that matter. 

Blair turned back to the dorm, and changed his mind. Cara might not hear him beating on the door, and she had plenty to do already. Not to mention that if he delayed, he'd probably get stuck with the campus cops after all, and then he'd never get home. The thought of a warm, peaceful bed settled the debate. Blair hustled across campus, praying that the jacket would still be there. If worse came to worse, he could always come back. 

The trip back seemed longer somehow, and the rain, which had started to fall in earnest, quickly soaked through his layers. The foliage was dripping as he rustled around, searching in the dark. The tiny emergency flashlight on his key ring was in the pocket of his jacket, of course. It took a few minutes on hands and knees, but to his great relief, he found his prize. The jacket was pushed halfway under a bush, but it was still there. He checked the pockets. Keys, phone, and he was set. He was also soaked to the skin, freezing, and asleep on his feet, but on his way. 

He never saw the blow that took him from behind. 

* * *

Jim sighed and closed the phone, stuffing it in his pocket. "Still no answer. I hope he went home. Of course, it could be that damn car of his. That so-called classic dies on a regular basis." 

"Jim, can I ask you something?" 

The edge of humor in Taggart's voice caught his attention. Joel had no way of knowing, but Jim could see the grin on his partner-for-the-evening's face as if it were broad day. "What?" he asked, not sure whether he was annoyed or amused. "Did I miss the joke?" 

"Jim, are you always like this?" 

"Like what?" 

"Like this. What does that make - the third or fourth time you've called him? In one evening?" 

"Oh. That." 

"Yeah, that," Joel said, chuckling as he said it. "I swear, Simon isn't as bad with Darryl, and he's an idiot teenager. You must be driving Sandburg crazy." 

Jim settled on mildly annoyed. It was impossible to be truly offended with someone as sincere as Joel. "Of course I call him. He's my partner. What's your point?" 

"Jim," Joel said reproachfully. "Tell me you don't pester him like this on a regular basis." 

Jim went silent. He hated to lie. On a normal evening, he would called more often, and probably dropped by. "I don't pester," he said irritably, avoiding the question. "I watch his back. That's what partners do." 

"Jim, you never hovered over Jack Pendergrast like this." 

"Yeah, well, Sandburg isn't Jack." 

"Come on, Jim. Blair isn't a damsel in distress, either. Surely you can see that's the way you're treating him." 

"I'm not." Why couldn't Taggart leave it alone? Still, Jim couldn't bring himself to snap at the man. "Look, it's just different. Sandburg's a civilian, and he's had a really hard time lately. I feel responsible." After a moment, he added, "I was responsible." 

"Are we talking about the drowning here? Jim, Blair would never want you to carry that around." 

Jim didn't answer. It wasn't just that he couldn't reply. He didn't want to. 

Taggart was nothing if not persistent. He waited and then gave Jim's knee a nudge. "You know as well as I do, being overprotective can get you killed, just as surely as being careless. Blair's a strong man, on multiple levels. Don't you respect him as that?" 

That comment surprised Jim. "Of course I do. Look, let's just drop it. You can't possibly understand." 

"Understand what? I know both of you, pretty well, I think, and I've been a cop a lot longer than you have. I've seen plenty of partners that were good for each other blow it by being stupid. For both your sakes, whatever your motivation, you need to rethink this. I say that as a friend." Jim looked away. Taggart persisted. "Jim? You know I'm not trying to hassle you here." 

"Yeah, I know," Jim finally said. Silence. An uncomfortable silence. "Hey, what do you say about some coffee. Would you be willing..." 

"...to walk back to the convenience store?" Joel filled in. "Sure, no problem. I'll hurry. Wouldn't want to miss any excitement." 

Jim watched the big man amble away, using the rearview mirror rather than turning his head. "If you only knew, big guy," he said softly, to himself. "You don't miss much of anything." 

* * *

Dark. 

_Open your eyes. Weren't his eyes open? Still dark._

_Cold. Wet. Water. Oh God, no. Not again_. Panic swept over him. He kicked his legs, flailing at nothing. 

_No, not the same. Not under the water. Just water nearby, not over his head._

He needed to look around, figure out where he was. His body didn't cooperate. Everything felt slow. His face was pressed into something cold and mushy, almost slick. 

_Not the fountain. Don't panic, not the fountain._

He slipped back, face down. What ever it was, he didn't like it. Everything seemed to ache. He tried to catalog. Where was he? What hurt so badly? He tried again, pushed up, just barely, and collapsed. He couldn't breathe. His ribs were a shrieking agony. He lay there, pulling air in shallow pants. He tried to flex his hands, get another grip to try again. Even that simple movement took forever. In that moment, he noticed he was cold. Really, really cold. He curled in on himself, hoping to pull away from the slimy damp that seemed to surround him. It hurt, but he felt a flicker of warmth. 

He relaxed into the moment, eyes closing. As soon as he was warm, he'd try again. 

* * *

"Of course," Jim groaned, leaning his forehead wearily against the wall next to the elevator of 852. The damn thing was broken again. "It had to be." 

"Don't worry, Jim," Taggart said. "Exercise is healthful." Jim wondered how the man could be so unfailingly cheerful after hours on a stakeout. It was spring, but the night temperatures were still dropped to near freezing, and the high humidity only made it worse. They'd been cold all night. Even nabbing their suspect hadn't been much of a relief, since they opted to finish the paperwork rather than come back later during the weekend. Seeing the sunrise through the windows of Major Crime sure hadn't done anything to brighten his mood. 

"Exercise. Tell that to my ankle," Jim grumbled. 

"That's why I'm here, remember? Come on, let me give you a hand. It's worse to see you hobbling on that thing. I should have taken you to the Emergency." 

"Not a chance. I can take care of it better than any wet-behind-the-ears intern." Jim gratefully slung an arm around Joel's broad shoulders. Taking each stair was much less painful when he kept his full weight off his injured ankle. "I'm still giving you breakfast," Jim said firmly. "I cannot believe it. It's crappy enough to be on stakeout all week. But to sprain an ankle and have the truck die? I should have taken it out of Brinker's hide. It was his fault." 

"I don't know, Jim. I think you dished out worse than you got." 

It was a long climb, but they were both chuckling by the time Jim unlocked the loft. It was hard to stay grumpy with Taggart's gentle teasing. 

"Sandburg's not here," Jim said, tossing his keys into the basket. "Is there a note around somewhere? How about some bacon and eggs?" 

"I don't see a note," Joel said. "You need to get off that ankle. Show me where the stuff is and I'll make coffee. You put your feet up. I can scramble eggs." 

"I promised you breakfast," Jim protested. "I didn't intend to have you cook." 

"Don't argue, Ellison," Joel said amiably. "It's boring." 

Jim stood in the kitchen, ignoring Joel's urgings. "Damn. No note in here, either. And he didn't leave a phone message, either." 

"Ellison, stop it," Joel said. "He's a big boy. He's not a teenager taking the car for the first time." 

"Maybe I should call his office," Jim said, his voice soft and distracted as he dialed. The phone kept ringing. He didn't realize how lost he was until Joel appeared in his line of vision. 

"Jim. Sit. Down. Now. He's not there. Hey, Jim, you with me here?" 

"Oh. Yeah. Whatever you say." Jim gave him a mildly embarrassed grin. Joel was right. Feeling a little silly, he hobbled into the living room. 

Joel kept up a cheerful monologue, and the aroma of fresh brew filled the loft. Jim sighed in relief. It was heaven to sit down and get his weight off his ankle. Joel added a bag of ice when he brought in a cup of coffee, and insisted Jim prop his foot up on a kitchen chair and a pillow. Bacon was sizzled in a pan. Things were looking up, except for Sandburg. Joel was right, of course, on any logical level. Blair was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Even so, Jim couldn't quite push nagging worry aside. 

"Where do you think your loyal observer is?" Joel asked. 

"He was working late. Sometimes he crashes at his office on this ratty old couch that's in there. Maybe he just slept through my call. He could be on his way home." 

"Could have gone on a date," Joel suggested, turning the bacon. 

"Could be," Jim said. "He didn't sound too social when I talked with him last." Unbidden, his brain conjured up a vision of Sandburg enjoying a little female companionship. He liked that thought even less. Angry with himself, he shifted uncomfortably. "He'll probably show up any minute looking for a real bed." 

"I've noticed Sandburg works pretty hard. I don't know where he gets the energy." There was a knock at the door. "Maybe that's him," Joel called out. "Must have forgotten his keys if he needs to knock." He shook a finger at Jim. "You stay put. I'll get it." 

Jim frowned, but didn't stop him. There were two heartbeats at the door, and neither of them were Sandburg's. Something was wrong. 

"Morning. Can I help you?" Joel asked politely. "You're from Rainier, aren't you?" 

Jim leaned over, peering around Taggart's large form. He recognized the uniforms as Rainier Campus Security. 

"I'm Officer Kaggan. I apologize for the early hour, but we were supposed to meet Blair Sandburg here to take his statement. Is he available?" 

"Sandburg? Uh, he's not here. Jim?" 

Jim winced as he eased his foot onto the floor. If Sandburg were here, he'd be giving a treatise about the influence of concentration on pain control. "Come on in," he said, motioning the officers into the room. "I'm Detective Ellison, Cascade PD, and this is Captain Taggart. Sandburg's my roommate. What statement are you talking about? This isn't some stupid harassment about the Ventriss case, is it?" 

The two Rainier security officers exchanged worried looks. "Not at all, Detective. Mr. Sandburg intervened in a situation on campus last night. It was quite late. He asked us to stop by to take his statement so he could come home and go to bed." 

"When was this?" Jim asked. He hobbled across the room, ignoring the pain from his ankle. "Sandburg didn't come home last night. You're sure he knew you were coming?" 

"Absolutely," Kaggan said. "I spoke with the night watch personally. It was at his request rather than stay any later on campus." 

Jim exchanged a worried glance with Taggart. "What incident?" Jim asked. "I spoke with him around ten. Can you fill me in?" 

Kaggan hesitated. "I suppose so, as a professional courtesy. The call came in around one. He intervened between a couple of students having an argument. The girl wanted to leave, her date was trying to stop her. Sandburg walked her back to the dorm and the RA called us. The guy apparently slapped her around. We're treating it as an assault. Since we don't have much to go on, we were really counting on Mr. Sandburg's help." 

"So you don't have the guy in custody," Jim said, raising his voice. 

"Well, no, the young lady was intoxicated and only knew his first name." 

"And then what were you planning on doing?" Jim snapped. "I suppose no one went back to the area last night to look for the guy, or check it this morning." Kaggan had the grace to look embarrassed. Jim was already on the move, suppressing the desire to limp. "I want you to show me where this happened. Now. Joel?" 

"I've got it, Jim," Joel said, anticipating Jim's next thought. "I'll call Simon and meet you downstairs." 

* * *

The steady drizzle during the night didn't make their task easier. Jim knelt on the cement walk, examining it closely. The move caused another flash of pain in his ankle, and he dialed it down as best he could. He had more important things to worry about than whether his body parts hurt. Sandburg was missing, and the circumstances gave him plenty of reason for concern. Everything else was secondary. 

"You're sure this was the location?" he asked. 

"According to the RA, this is the general area. The girl wasn't a lot of help, and neither were her friends. Judging from the location of the parties they hit, this would be the most likely route back on campus," Kaggan explained. 

"There's got to be something," Jim said. "Taggart's already checked his office. His car was still in the lot. I'll bet he never got that far. We need to spread out. Look for any signs of a struggle." 

Jim, Taggart and the two campus cops worked their way slowly, examining the shrubbery as they went, covering a ten or twenty yard strip between them. 

"Detective? Would you take a look at this?" Kaggan was pointing to something on the ground, under a tangle of evergreen boughs. 

"Blair's backpack," Jim said with complete certainty. "Someone tossed it under here. He never leaves it behind. Ever. Keep looking." 

They found Blair's mud-streaked jacket a few feet away. Joel searched the pockets. "His phone and keys are still here, Jim." 

"Hand it over." Jim examined the jacket closely. "Shit. There's blood on the sleeve." The two campus officers exchanged puzzled glances. Who could pick out blood with all that mud? Jim knelt again, studying the grassy slope in front of him. The steady rain had matted the grass down, but there was a faint depression, two long parallel streaks of bent blades. Jim traced the pattern, tentative at first, then at an awkward trot. 

"Detective Ellison?" Kaggan called. "What's he doing?" he asked Taggart. 

"Damn that man!" Joel muttered. "That ankle's going to be a mess if he keeps this up. Whatever it is, trust me, you'd better keep up. We're going to need an evidence bag," Joel said, setting off in the same direction, carrying Blair's jacket and backpack. The campus security officers trailed in his wake. Jim headed away from the parking areas, toward the most densely wooded part of Rainier's grounds. 

This corner of campus held a reflecting garden based on a Japanese theme, a gift from a wealthy alumnus sometime in the sixties. A pool of koi, and a stream crossed by several arched footbridges were the centerpiece. The plants had grown dense and lush, topped by old growth cedar. Ferns covered the slopes as the dipped into the water. Jim started over the first bridge, then turned back and recklessly hurtled down the slope, splashing into the creek. With water up to his knees, he sloshed through the reeds. 

Kaggan stood in the center of the picturesque bridge, watching him as if Jim had lost his mind. "Detective Ellison? Is there something down there?" 

Jim emerged briefly from the cattails. "Get down here and help me," he shouted. "And call an ambulance." 

* * *

"Sandburg! Come on, don't do this." 

_Too far away. Too cold. Blair slipped back, the voice fading. There was no light, no up, no down. Just cold, and pain. It was too hard to try._

"No. Oh God, no. Chief? Chief!" 

"He's breathing? Come on, Jim, let's get him up the slope. Out of the water." 

_Pushes. Pulls. Blair shuddered. His world spun faster, end over end. He wanted peace and got turmoil. The voice wouldn't go away. Hands probed. He was bumped and jarred._

"Damn it, where is that ambulance?" Jim snarled. 

"On the way." 

"We're losing him, Joel. He won't wake up." 

"Get his shirt off, it's soaking wet. Here, take my coat. We'll wrap him up. At least this is dry." 

"Oh, God, he's like ice. Not again. This can't be happening again. Where are those idiot campus police?" 

"Easy, Jim. That's it, pull him against you, keep him close. Give me his hands, and I'll work on them. We're not going to lose him, Jim." 

"It's not enough. He's blue. He's barely breathing. We need blankets or something." 

"But he's breathing. Jim! Look at me! We're doing okay here! Just a few more minutes and they'll be here." 

_Warm. Move to the warm. Jim?_

"Oh, yeah! It's me, Chief. Come on, buddy, wake up for me. Let me know you're okay." 

_Jim. Safe._

"He knows. He squeezed my hand. Jim, do you hear me? He knows you're here, Jim. It's going to be all right." 

* * *

"They should have let me ride with him! Can't you go any faster?" 

"If I could, I would," Joel said calmly. "We're not far behind them. You know they won't let us see him right away. You try storming into an exam room caked with mud and you won't get very far. I could stop by the loft, get you some dry clothes." 

"Forget it. I need to be there. They damn well better let me see him, or they'll have more to worry about than a few muddy footprints." 

Joel shook his head. Obviously, Jim wasn't in the mood to listen. He hadn't been present when Alex had nearly killed Sandburg, but he'd heard the story afterwards from Simon and the others. They'd spent nearly half the night talking before Simon had taken off for Sierra Verde. Jim had been nearly berserk at the hospital, and things were shaping up for a repeat. If Jim lost it, it wouldn't do either of the partners any good. 

Careening around another corner, Joel pulled out his own cell phone and hit the speed dial for Simon's home number. Simon, by virtue of rank and his close relationship with Jim, was the only one who had a prayer of managing this. 

* * *

"Showtime," Dr. Kendall quipped as the gurney rolled by. "What do we have here?" He looked up from the ravaged face on his new patient. "Crap, what happened to this guy?" 

The EMT began rattling off numbers and information. Kendall pushed aside his initial horror and went to work. The facial injuries looked bad, but they weren't serious and could wait. Breathing was slow, but steady. Pressure was down. Treating the hypothermia would come first, along with the head injuries. "Has his temp come up any?" he asked briskly. 

"Not yet." 

"Let's get him on warmed air, and finish getting him out of these clothes. Switch him to warmed 5% dextrose. Where was he?" 

"Half in the reflecting pond at Rainier. Been in the water at least six hours." 

Kendall continued his exam. "And we know this because?" 

"He talked with the campus cops around one this morning. He's a TA, and a police observer. We've got records." 

Kendall's head snapped up. How many could there be? "Police observer? Is this the guy that came in as a drowning victim a few months ago?" 

"The same. Blair Sandburg. The guy can't get a break, and neither can you, Doc. Ellison is right behind us." 

"Why me?" Kendall moaned. "Shit, I heard all the stories. No way am I messing around with this. Call security. I don't care what kind of a hotshot Ellison is, this is a hospital, and I don't have time for him right now. Come on, people, let's move. Mary, I want this guy's records, like five minutes ago. Read them to me while we work. Start monitoring his core temp. We need heat packs and fresh blankets. Where's that IV?" 

* * *

Jim was out of the car before Joel had it completely stopped. His ankle gave out, and he stumbled forward, catching himself on a nearby parked car. 

"Jim! Slow down or you won't make it at all." 

Jim shook off the steadying hand. "I'm okay," he snapped. 

Joel watched in consternation as Jim plowed across the pavement, oblivious to traffic in either direction. "Sweet Jesus, Ellison, you're going to get yourself killed," he muttered, trying to close the gap quickly opening between himself and the other detective. He needed to break into a run to actually catch up, and Jim totally ignored him. Simon was nowhere in sight, and Jim was going to create chaos if someone didn't slow him down. 

The nomination list was painfully short. Taggert sprinted a few steps and planted himself firmly in Jim's path. He ignored the flash of anger on Ellison's face and kept himself between Jim and the large glass doors of the hospital. "Do you want to get in there?" Joel demanded sharply. "I mean with Blair? Or do you just want to storm the gates?" 

"Don't waste my time," Jim snarled with a shove. Joel absorbed the force and returned it in kind. Already unsteady on his ankle, Jim fell back a pace, glaring. 

"Use your head! You're a persona non grata in this place. I'll get you in, but you have to promise me you'll let me do the talking." Jim didn't answer, but he did manage a slight nod. Joel decided to go with what he could get. With Ellison in tow, he approached the reception desk and flashed his ID. The young woman's eyes bypassed his credentials and focused behind him. Obviously, even a silent Ellison was enough to inspire a little terror. 

"Captain Taggart, Cascade PD. You have one of our personnel here, just brought in. We need to see him." 

The woman stood, looking as if she were ready to bolt. "I can't let you in there. Especially him," she said, her voice quavering a bit. 

"We have information pertinent to his treatment. Get the physician treating him." 

She took a step back and shook her head. 

"Now, Miss," Joel said firmly. 

She slid behind her desk chair, staring anxiously behind them and to the right. Taggart followed her gaze. She was looking toward the elevators. Joel frowned. Unless he missed his guess, someone had already called security. The first one who laid a hand on Jim was going to be in for a battle royal. He needed to move fast 

He turned to Jim. "Where are they?" he asked bluntly. 

Jim missed the implications of the question and answered. "Back there." 

"Then follow me, but you keep your word." They set off, Taggart taking the lead, ignoring the cries bubbling from the reception area. 

"Third room, on the left," Jim said softly. 

The exam room was chaos. Taggart zeroed in on a slight young man in blue scrubs, barely older than Sandburg, who was giving orders as they stepped in. The air of tension was palpable. 

* * *

"Damn it all!" Simon shouted, pulling his wounded car to the curb. He surged out, checking the right rear tire, knowing already what he was going to find. The tire was flat. It had been losing air slowly for the last few days, and he'd put off getting it repaired, opting to wait for a weekend. Now, at the worst possible moment, it had finally given out. 

"Damn!" he fumed helplessly. 

He could change the tire. Twenty minutes minimum. Ellison would have the ER in shambles by then. 

Call for a patrol car, and get a ride. That could take even longer. 

Make a run for it. Give or take, he was about ten blocks from the hospital, and he was in Saturday casuals. Given the alternatives, he was about to get a little exercise. 

He locked the car and set off on foot. Taggart would have to hang on by himself a little longer. 

* * *

Kendall had what he thought was a good plan. He'd dealt with difficult people plenty of times. In the ER, it came with the territory. His patient came first, he was the physician, and his word was law. The moment Ellison showed his face, he'd have his ass thrown out of the hospital. His call to Security had been colorful and extremely specific. 

Funny how reality changes your intentions. Or in this case, the first glance. 

The big guy, a Captain Taggart, was intent but calm. Manageable. It was the specter standing behind Taggart's left shoulder, silent, filthy from head to toe, who gave him pause. He fit the description, right down to the ice blue gaze from hell. Hello, Detective Ellison. 

Intimidating Kendall had expected. Volatile, even angry. He might be seeing all of those things, but that's not what changed his mind. 

Haunted. Jim Ellison was scared. Desperate wouldn't be pushing it. 

"Clear the room," Kendall said softly. His support personnel looked up from their work as if he'd lost his mind. He never even glanced at them. He kept his full attention on the two police officers just inside the door. "I mean it. Get out. All of you." 

"Doctor?" one of them finally asked, thoroughly confused. 

He waved them out, still not breaking eye contact with the intruders. 

After everyone had filed out, he went to them, deliberately keeping his voice soft. "You should go. He's not stablized. Let me work." 

"Consider it a police emergency. Detective Ellison needs to be here." Taggart was doing all the talking. Ellison was totally focused on the man lying on the table. Fortunately, he hadn't made a move. Yet. 

"Outside would be better. I'll keep you informed." No response from Ellison, and Taggart silently shook his head. Kendall tried another tack. "We're trying to maintain sterile conditions. Your clothing alone could impact his treatment." 

"You don't understand." 

Barely a whisper. Kendall caught the brunt of that unblinking stare. 

"He needs me. He might - last time - he -" 

Ellison's voice trailed off. His gaze had shifted back to his injured partner. The look was pure agony. "Detective? What do I need to know?" 

Ellison struggled with the words. "He - might not try - hard enough. To come back. Last time, he would have slipped away. If he'd known..." He took a step, but halted when Kendall held an arm in his way. The tall body vibrated with tension, his expression one of despair. "It might have been - easier - for him. Oh, God - my fault." 

Something clicked. Half overheard from the EMT's who'd brought Sandburg in. 

_I kid you not. Sandburg was eff'n dead. I don't care what the chart says. He was dead. Murphy called it at the scene, and he's been on the job ten years; he knows when they've lost one. He's still freaked about it. Swears Ellison did some seriously weird shit. Calling back the departed qualifies in my book._

Kendall's eyes narrowed. He opened an upper cabinet and pulled out a set of scrubs. "You need to change, even the shoes. Go across the hall. I'm sure Captain Taggart can help you." He turned away, hoping he'd made the right decision. 

* * *

Simon decided his ten-block estimate was closer to fifteen, although he'd been more concerned with speed than keeping count. He slowed to a walk, rather than burst through the doors to Cascade General's Emergency at full speed. A panicked entrance wasn't going to help damage control. He half expected to see a path of Ellison-generated carnage. 

The place was quiet, almost empty. Simon's first thought was that Jim had wiped out the entire staff. He spotted Taggart, who waved him over. His old friend looked composed, considering the circumstances. 

"Joel," Simon said with a nod. "Where do we stand?" 

"Temporarily, we're fine. Jim's with Sandburg, thank God. He's not in great shape, but we got through the first crisis. I'm not quite sure why, but I'm pretty certain the doc was ready to put Ellison in restraints and then changed his mind." 

Simon dropped into the nearest chair. "Jim can be pretty intimidating when he wants to be." 

"I'm not sure I'd call it intimidation. I'm worried, Simon. Every cop gets a little crazy when their partner takes a hit, but Ellison's dancing on the edge. I think that's why the doc backed down. He's quiet, but - scary, for lack of a better word." 

Simon heaved a worried sigh. "I can't say I'm surprised. Nothing's been right with those two since Barnes." 

"I know it was bad. Thanks for coming so soon, Simon. I hate to think I dragged you out without cause." 

"You did the right thing. Of all people, I trust your instincts. It's a miracle you got him in the door. They probably have Jim's picture hanging in the doctor's lounge, with instructions to sedate on sight." He shifted to get comfortable on the waiting room furniture. "Wooh. Finally caught my breath. I hoofed it from Pine. Never do your first mile before coffee and a good breakfast." 

Joel smirked. "I told you to quit messing around with that tire. You're lucky it didn't strand you in a worse spot." 

"You knew. Maybe next time, I'll pay attention. Fill me in. How did we get in this mess?" 

"Sandburg apparently broke up a situation on campus around one this morning. Campus Security showed up at the loft to take his statement, but he'd never gotten home. Jim dragged them back to campus, trailed I don't know what, and found him dumped in the reflecting pond. Simon, someone beat the shit out the kid." 

"What is this?" Simon exploded angrily. "Ventriss all over again?" 

"Damn close. He sent some overaggressive boyfriend packing and walked the girl home. I think a random mugging is just too coincidental." 

"I don't believe this. I don't care what front he puts up, Sandburg never recovered from that drowning. Now this. How bad is it?" 

"Visually, his face is a mess, but I doubt it's serious. I'd bet on a concussion. He took a bad blow to the back of the head. I think the immediate worry is hypothermia. It was cold last night, and he was in the water. He felt like ice, and he never was completely conscious with us before they transported. He was still out when we crashed the exam room." 

"They'll admit him?" 

"I'm sure they will, Simon." 

"We need to keep Jim here, for both their sakes. I'm pulling whatever strings I need to, but as of now, Major Crime is taking the lead on the investigation. I started making calls on my way over." 

"I was hoping you'd say that. If you're on it, I think Jim will stay put. Simon - look, it's bad timing, but I need to say some things, and not to my boss." 

Simon settled back in the chair. "Do we need more privacy?" 

Taggart scanned the empty waiting area. "We're okay for now. Something's going on with those two, and before you say it, I know something's always going on. Don't sweat it, old friend. You keep it under wraps. It works on everyone else, but I just know you too well. Jim said, did some things last night. Like you said, something is off between the two of them, and he seriously doesn't have a handle on it. If it were anyone other than Jim, I'd be telling you in confidence to get him off the street and in to see one of the Department shrinks." 

"And you're not?" 

"Only because Ellison could buffalo any psych on the face of the planet. It would be a waste of time. All the same, I don't think we - you - can ignore it." 

"Consider it said. You'll stay here? I need someone I can count on, to keep an eye on them both." 

Joel shrugged. "I can try. He won't open up to me, but he doesn't tell me to get lost, either." 

"He wouldn't. He respects you, and you have a knack for not pushing his buttons. I won't stay. I'll get the troops in, and get the case details." 

"I called Serena personally. She said she'd keep her cell with her." 

"Serena's the best. I'll be in touch." Simon looked his friend up and down. "I'll get you some clothes, too." He grinned just a bit. "I have Jim's key, and I know where you hide yours. For a career cop, you sure have a lot of trust. You may as well leave the key hanging in the doorknob." 

Joel grinned. "Hey, no one's ever broken in. Be sure to bring shoes and socks for both. I can live with grubby pant legs, but my feet are wet. Jim was soaked nearly to the waist, so he needs everything." 

"God. Don't tell me he's in their terrorizing Cascade General in the buff." 

"No. They made him change to scrubs as the price of getting in. His stuff's in here." Joel hauled a plastic garbage back from under his chair and handed it over. 

"I'll catch a cab and get a cruiser to meet me at Jim's place. Call if there's any change." He started off. 

"Simon?" 

"Yeah?" he answered, turning back.. 

"Between us. You've done a good job protecting them, but it's coming unraveled. Jim isn't being careful. I need to know enough to help. Whatever they need, I'm there." 

No other words were necessary. 

* * *

Jim watched, agonizing as the gurney moved away, carrying Sandburg off into the bowels of the hospital. The surrounding sounds and smells ebbed as he concentrated on Blair's heartbeat, fading with distance until he lost it completely. Time stopped. 

"Jim? I need you to sit down, buddy." It was Taggart. When Jim ignored his plea, he touched him gently on the shoulder. "There's a chair here. You don't need to go anywhere." Another tug on the elbow. "You can't just stand here in the hallway. You're in the way. Someone's going to get irritable." 

Jim finally took notice and allowed himself to be maneuvered into the exam room he'd changed clothes in. He sat mechanically in the chair when it blocked his path. "It's been a long time," he mumbled as Taggart wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. "He just isn't waking up." 

"I know," Joel said, trying to be soothing. Jim had the look of a disaster victim going into shock. 

"He's cold." Jim pulled fretfully at the blanket wrapped around his own shoulders. "Why do hospitals always have such shitty blankets?" 

"I don't know. Jim, I'm taking these bootie things off." 

"What?" Jim said. He hadn't noticed Taggart kneeling in front of him. "Where did this come from?" he asked, pulling at the blanket again. 

"I put it there. Pay attention, Jim. Your ankle's worse. Just because you can ignore the pain doesn't mean it's good to go." Jim stared absently as Taggart placed an icepack over the ankle and loosely wrapped it to keep it in place. "I talked the nurses out of the supplies. We're going to wrap this for you before you leave, and I arranged for some crutches." 

"Don't need them," Jim said, staring back in the direction of the hallway. 

Joel smiled knowingly. "I know you don't care right at this moment, but not wanting isn't the same as not needing. You're making the sprain worse, and you know it. You're not going to be much help to Blair if you can't get around yourself." 

"He was so cold," Jim said, his voice drifting off. 

"He was hypothermic." Joel shook his head. "Soaking wet, half in the creek, and it was damn cold last night." He placed a hand on Jim's arm, trying to reassure him. "I'm sure we got him here in time. You were right there. He turned to your voice. He'll be okay, Jim." 

"I want the son of a bitch who did this." 

"I know. You don't want to leave, do you?" 

"No. Can't." Jim closed his eyes and added softly, "I left last time." 

"I know that, too, but you're here now. That's what counts. I'm sure they'll come get us as soon as they have Blair settled. We'd just be in their way now. We just need to get you ready, so you can go as soon as they call." Jim made no response. "Hey, buddy, stay with me, you hear? There's no one around. Simon brought clothes for both of us. Let's get you into something warmer. Lose that pathetic excuse for a shirt. Green is just not your color." Jim made no move on his own, so Joel gently tugged at the bottom hem and pulled it off. At least Jim seemed willing to cooperate, as long as someone else did the prompting. His skin felt cold and clammy as Joel helped him into a t-shirt, button down and a sweater. 

Joel kept up a monologue, hoping Jim would register some of it. "Were you paying attention earlier? I called Simon. He's handling the case personally, and he's taking care of everything. They called in extra personnel to help forensics, and he's got Brown and Rafe questioning students." 

"God knows the campus cops weren't going to do it," Jim said bitterly. "They could have found him last night, if they'd bothered to look." 

"Maybe. I'm not sure how you found Blair, but they couldn't have done it, even in broad daylight. What matters is we did find him." 

"They were idiots." The emotion flared, and then Jim slipped back into his earlier watchful silence. He did seem marginally more connected, so Joel forged on. They needed to work on a few necessities like underwear, pants, shoes and socks. 

"Don't judge them too harshly. They're not really an investigative unit. It would have ended up with us eventually." Joel pulled the exam room door shut. "Stand up, Jim, and shed the pants." 

"After the week we had, I'm sure Brown and Rafe were thrilled to be called in," Jim said sarcastically. He blinked, as if he finally noticed he was on his feet. Joel temporarily pulled off the ice bag and held out a pair of boxers. "Oh. Clothes. Right." Jim looked down, and with a look of mild surprise, stroked the arm of the sweater. He finally made eye contact. "Thanks, Joel." 

"Well, at least you're paying attention. Actually, Simon told me he found Henri working out at the PD gym. He was happy to do it. Not many people know this, Jim, but Brown's baby sister got roughed up on a blind date a few years ago. He won't be cutting anyone any slack. He's probably rousting guys out of bed at frat houses as we speak. Rafe is on his way. They'll get a break." 

Jim nodded. "I wish they'd tell us something." 

"Well, I'm not as cute as a nurse, but let me get a decent wrap on your ankle and then get your shoe on. Soon as that's done, I'll help you stalk the halls of Cascade General." 

Jim acquiesced, and Joel took his time. The doctor had explained that Blair needed to stop at x-ray before being settled in his room. It was to everyone's advantage to keep Jim out from under their feet for the moment. Jim winced a few times as his ankle was handled, but otherwise, said nothing. 

* * *

"I'm sorry, Captain Banks. There's just not that much to work with." 

"We need more, Serena." 

The forensics officer shook her head. "The best I can do is a partial off the rock. If you arrest a suspect, we can do a match, but it's not enough to do a general search from any of the data bases. All it will accomplish is generating a lot of dead ends." 

"It's better than nothing." 

"Sir, everything points to a college student. Most young people that age have no reason to have prints on file." 

"All right, you win," Simon said begrudgingly. "We'll use it as a last resort. Do you have any other options?" 

"All the blood looks to be Blair's. Captain Taggart was certain the attacker handled Blair's leather coat, and his backpack. I have some techniques we can try to lift a print from the leather, but it will take time, and I'm not very hopeful. We'd have to be very, very lucky. Even then, unless you get a suspect to narrow it down, it might not do any good." 

"Do what you can, Serena." 

"Yes, sir. You know how we all feel about Blair." 

Simon left Forensics and headed up to his office. He was shamelessly pulling personnel from other duties to canvass the neighborhoods around Rainier. Rafe and Brown were like hounds on the scent, despite the fact they were pulling a double shift and then some. Simon would have given even money that they'd be the first to generate a lead. 

On a hunch of his own, he'd sent Megan Connor to re-interview the assault victim and her friends. Megan was a good cop, and she had a real gift for coaxing reluctant witnesses and victims, particularly females. That Aussie accent charmed them out of their socks. It actually amused Simon immensely. Connor played her softer side only when it suited her. 

Upon reaching his office, he hunted eagerly for a message from his Australian Exchange officer. Sure enough, after an hour of careful questioning, young Lucy and her friends had produced a single name - Terry. No surname. It was better than nothing. 

So, they had partial print and a partial name. How fitting. Simon began tracking down his far-flung units, eager to pass the information along. 

* * *

Taggart managed to ease Jim's shoe over the layers of bandage and tape. The lace was barely tied, but at least the shoe was on. Jim stood, testing it gently. Joel wordlessly handed him the crutches. Jim glared in disgust, but took them anyway. 

"What room is he in? I'm not waiting any longer." 

"I'll find out. Stay here." Taggart waited until Jim hobbled back to his seat. When he turned, he nearly ran into Dr. Kendall, who was on his way in. 

"Detective, Captain Taggart. Any chance we can contact a family member for your friend?" the doctor asked. 

"None," Jim said firmly. "There's only his mother, and she's out of the country. Anything you can say to next of kin you can say to me. I'm his emergency contact, and he's mine." 

"It's irregular." 

"Consider the information pertinent to the police investigation, if that makes it easier for you." Jim struggled to his feet, wishing he hadn't taken a seat in the first place. "You can either tell me, or I'll find him and see for myself." 

"Save the bluster, Detective. He's awake now, but he the blow to the back of the head caused a concussion and a fairly deep cut. I estimate he was unconscious for several hours. Considering the damp and the temperature last night, that was enough to put him into hypothermia, as you know. His body temperature is coming up slowly, but he's a pretty miserable young man." 

"He's awake, though? More than he was? Can I see him?" Jim asked anxiously. His tone changed and he added, "I will see him." 

"Relax, Detective. Based on the fact that my patient responds positively to your presence, yes, you're getting in. And he is awake, but groggy. I'm a little concerned, actually, which was why I was a little slow getting back to you. It was a hard blow, but the X-rays didn't show a lot of actual damage to the skull. Even allowing for the hypothermia, he seems unusually disoriented." 

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?" Jim couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice. "We're not talking brain damage or anything like that?" 

"Oh, no, not really. None of the other tests gave evidence of swelling near the brain. I just wondered if something else was going on. I reviewed his records from the drowning. That incident was bad enough. Has he had any other concussions recently? Say in the last six months?" 

Jim swallowed. Blair definitely paid a price for his time as on observer. "Actually, he has. A couple of them. But he's always bounced back so quickly." 

"His records were correct? You were with him when he drowned? He didn't respond immediately, and was pronounced dead at the scene?" Jim nodded, beyond miserable himself. 

"You're completely sure about that?" 

"I helped give the CPR," Jim said. It was an effort to keep his voice steady. "Why does that matter?" 

"He's an unusual case, and sometimes the records don't tell you everything. I suppose that might explain it." 

"Explain what?" 

"He's obviously had a difficult few months, Detective, and these things are cumulative, you know. Each injury heals more slowly, and sometimes patients become sensitized, meaning it takes less impact to cause an injury as time goes on." 

"Like the quarterbacks that get their bell rung too many times?" Joel asked. 

"Exactly like that. Has he complained of headaches or anything like that?" 

"I don't know. He pulls a lot of long hours." Jim cringed inwardly, thinking of plenty of times Blair had done paperwork by flashlight in the truck. "He gets headaches, but he always blames them on eye strain." 

"I see. My advice, when all this is over, is that you encourage him to get his prescription checked and eliminate that as a possibility. It might not hurt to have him evaluated by a neurologist." 

"Consider it done," Jim said. 

"Is insurance a concern?" the doctor asked. "I've checked, and he doesn't have a private policy. I've never known student insurance to be particularly comprehensive. 

"Not a problem. I'll pay for it myself, if necessary." 

Kendall raised an eyebrow, as if that impressed him. "Good. I really think it's wise to have him see someone. I'll make sure you have a referral." 

"Can I see him now?" 

"Of course, but I'm establishing some guidelines. I'm sure you have questions, but it's important we keep him quiet. You can see him as long as you don't grill him too much. Truthfully, I'm not sure he's coherent enough to answer. We've worked him up to sipping warm broth, and you could help with that. The warmed air is the best way to bring up his body temperature. Dr. Allen will be attending him up in the wards, by the way, but I'll check in later this evening. I work another night shift, starting at midnight." 

"Are we going to have problems with access?" Taggart asked, anticipating the worst. "Will this Dr. Allen be agreeable?" 

I've spoken with him, and made a notation on Sandburg's chart. Unless his condition takes a huge turn for the worse, it shouldn't be a problem. I'm hoping to get him in for another MRI, and start a neuro workup. Allen agrees. It all depends on his progress." 

"His face - it was bad," Jim said, stumbling over the words. 

"More superficial than serious. Looked much worse than it actually is." 

"The guy used a rock," Joel said bitterly. Jim looked at him in surprise. "I didn't tell you. Forensics found it, close to where we found that jacket. He'd tossed it under a tree, which was good news for us. It's dry under those big evergreens. It still has streaks of Blair's blood. They think they might get a print." 

"Good. I want this guy off the street," Jim said, slightly mollified. "He's really going to be okay? When can I take him home, Doctor?" 

"Considering everything, I want to keep him at least tonight. Forty-eight hours is pretty standard for hypothermia. We need to monitor his head injury, and his body temp is still a concern. We have the means to keep him more comfortable, heated blankets and such. I know you're anxious to see him. If you like, I'll walk you back. I like to check him once more before I leave the hospital." 

"Go ahead, Jim," Joel said. "I'll call Simon, and see if there's any news." 

* * *

"Hey, Chief," Jim said softly, resting his weight on the crutches. Kendall was bustling around, checking Blair's vitals, listening to his chest. Jim tried to get close and keep out of the way at the same time. Bright blue eyes were visible under the oxygen mask. The rest of the face was a mass of bruises. For a moment, Jim saw no spark of recognition. He searched, wanting to take his partner's hand, some way to make contact. Blair's arms were tucked in tightly, probably to keep him warm. 

Jim tried again, placing a hand with the lightest of touches on Blair's temple, just above the mask. "Blair? It's me. Hey, buddy, it's Jim." 

"Jzzim?" The mask muted the slurred words, but to sentinel ears, it was music. 

"Yeah, it's Jim." He kept his touch light, avoiding the worst of the bruises. "You with me, partner?" A spark of recognition finally came to Blair's eyes. Jim sighed in relief. 

"Y're here." The mask shifted as Blair managed the flicker of a smile, which faded quickly. "Hurtsss." 

"I know. It'll get better. I hope you got in a good punch on the other guy." 

"Dunno. Sssor'y." 

"Don't worry about it right now." Kendall was right. Blair wouldn't be answering any questions for awhile. 

Kendall finished and wrapped the stethoscope around his neck. "Keep him focused, but don't push it. Dr. Allen will be in." 

"Thanks, Dr. Kendall." 

"I have a price, Detective. I have a few more questions for you, but now isn't the time." 

Jim didn't like the sound of that. He spent the next ten minutes talking softly. When Blair seemed to drift, he gently brushed fingers along the hairline, dodging a few spectacular bruises. The touch seemed to keep his friend in the present better than the one sided conversation, so Jim kept it up. 

The floor nurse arrived, introduced herself and handed Jim a mug and a spoon. The aroma of rich broth drifted upward. "Go ahead and visit, but keep feeding him," she said with a nod. "It doesn't really do much for his body temperature, but it should make him feel a little better. We want the mask back on as soon as possible." 

For the first few spoonfuls, as much of the liquid went dribbling down Blair's chin as into his mouth. Jim slowed down, trying to make it as easy as possible. He spoke gently, encouraging his partner to swallow, hoping to stimulate a little more awareness. After a few minutes, it was clear why Kendall had been concerned. Blair barely knew where he was and who was around him. Every time he seemed to figure it out, the awareness slipped away. 

With his back to the door, Jim heard rather than saw Dr. Allen when he arrived. His first reflex was to toss the intruder from the room. "Hey, Chief, we've got company," he said gently, and turned to examine the new arrival. Unlike Kendall, Dr. Allen was an older man. Jim guessed he was over sixty, with a grandfatherly air. He stiffened, expecting to be ordered from the room. 

"You must be Detective Ellison. Relax, young man. According to Dr. Kendall, it's best you're here." He waited until Blair seemed to register his presence before speaking to his patient directly. "Mr. Sandburg, I'm Dr. Allen. Let's see how you're doing." Allen's calm approach and gentle voice seemed to help. "Temperature's coming up. The closer it gets to normal, the better you'll feel, but that will take a quite awhile. You're probably sick of being prodded, but let me check your eyes." 

Blair complied, but his heart rate had jumped as the exam became more intrusive. He seemed confused and frightened again, as though he'd already forgotten who Allen was. Jim absently rubbed a hand up and down his partner's thigh, hoping to reassure him. The heated blankets gave off a warm glow under his hand. 

"Not bad, considering," Dr. Allen said. "If your temperature stabilizes, we'll run the scans this afternoon. Doctor Kendall and I agree on the timetable." Blair blinked a few times, and didn't answer. He looked toward Jim instead. 

Jim realized Blair's anxiety must have showed, because Allen spoke to him next. "Don't be too alarmed, Detective. A little confusion under the circumstances it to be expected. I'll be back frequently, and the nursing staff will be here more often. We'll let him sleep a little, with careful monitoring. I'm sure he'll show steady improvement. Now that he's settled, don't feel you have to stay. There'd be no harm in stopping in a few hours from now." 

"I'm not going anywhere," Jim said. 

"Your reputation precedes you, so I figured that to be the case. Here's what we're going to do," Allen said. "Blair?" He waited until his patient slowly swiveled his eyes away from Jim. "You're going to finish that gourmet meal your friend has for you. Then you'll take a nap, and behave for the nurses. You're not out of the woods yet. We want lots of rest and quiet for you." He looked pointedly at Jim. "I'll get someone in to see to that ankle. Don't argue, Detective. The ER staff ratted you out. Play the tough guy with someone else. You should be off it altogether. We'll get some extra furniture in here so you can prop it up." He breezed out of the room. 

"Ank'l?" Blair asked, trying to push himself up. 

"Oh, no you don't," Jim said. "Here, take a sip and I'll tell you all about it." Jim pulled up a chair and got busy with the spoon. "That's better. We got Brinker, but he tried to bolt." 

"Bink'r?" 

"Yeah," Jim answered calmly, though he was anything but calm. They'd been following Brinker all week and now Blair didn't recognize the name. "Just one of the bad guys, Chief. I chased after him, got tangled up in some wire and tripped. Joel's been fussing over me like an old hen." In between sentences, he worked in spoonfuls of broth. 

By the time the cup was nearly empty, Blair's eyes fluttered shut. Jim settled the air mask back into place, checked his watch and decided to let him doze. They'd waken him soon enough. 

He eased into the chair and let the whoosh of air through Blair's mask blot out the rest of reality. 

* * *

Simon was impressed. Not only had Rafe and Brown covered a lot of territory on their own, they'd organized the information from everyone else. It was stellar police work. Too bad they hadn't really gotten anything. Yet. 

Simon frowned at the conference table, now covered with a much-enlarged map of the streets around Rainier. Colored dots represented specific addresses where interviews had taken place. The white board had a scrawled list of locations where known parties had occurred the night before. 

"We need to hit this street again," Brown said. "Play it a little tougher. Maybe get the University to add some pressure." 

"I'll make some calls," Simon said. "Not that I've been overwhelmed with the level of cooperation from Rainier up to this point." 

"What's the deal with that woman, Edwards?" Rafe asked angrily. "As soon as she found out Sandburg was involved, she's done nothing but obstruct. Blair just happened to be the one who intervened; he didn't cause anything. The girl's damn lucky Sandburg was there, and so is the university. They could be looking at date rape this morning." 

"I'm as frustrated as you are," Simon answered. He wondered who might have some influence on Chancellor Edwards. So far, based on her track record with Ventriss, donors with fat wallets were her sole priority. Crime prevention and punishing the guilty apparently didn't count for much. He chomped on his cigar. "Look, you guys have done a great job, but you're both dead on your feet. Call it a day." 

"But, Captain..." 

"I know. I know. Look, we'll compromise. Go home, get a few hours of sleep. See what you can shake loose if you show up on a Saturday night, unannounced. Maybe the threat of a few citations will improve some memories." 

"Thanks, sir. We owe it to Sandburg," Brown said. 

"Uh, Captain, do you think we could stop by the hospital and visit. Maybe cheer him up a bit?" Rafe asked. 

"Maybe not today. I'm going over there now. Taggart's been there all day, and according to him, Sandburg really isn't up to visitors. Call me tonight, and I'll tell you how it goes." 

Shooing his detectives out of the bullpen, Simon spent the better part of the next hour checking with forensics, reorganizing the duty roster, and making calls. By the time he was ready to leave, the better part of the day had slipped away. 

* * *

"Jim?" Joel said quietly from the doorway. Jim had the chair pushed right up to the bedside. He looked awful, almost as bad as the patient in the bed. "Blair's asleep? How's he doing?" 

"Still in and out," Jim said, keeping his voice down. "I know he's better, but he doesn't seem better. Every time he wakes up, we start over from the beginning." 

"What did the doctor say? Would you rather go outside to talk?" 

"I don't think he'll notice. They took the IV out a little while ago, and drew some blood. He went right back to sleep as soon as they left. They're going to run some scans or something. I expect them to come get him in a few minutes. " 

"Then let's go get you something to eat. I could run you home to the loft." Jim ignored the suggestion. Joel was about to try again when Blair's nurse appeared with a couple of orderlies. 

"Time for a ride," she said cheerfully. "Blair? Hey there, sleepy. You have a scan scheduled. I wanted to make sure you were awake before we moved you. Your temperature is up enough that we can take the mask off, too." She pulled gently at the straps, revealing Blair's entire face for the first time. 

"Jim?" Blair asked hesitantly. 

Jim leaned forward, so he was close to Blair's face. "Right here, and I'll be here when you come back. I guess I'd just be in the way on this one. They're going to take good care of you, Chief." Jim grasped his partner's hand as the warming pads were unplugged and the monitors were temporarily disconnected. 

"M 'kay." 

"Sure you are." The nurse nodded, and Jim tucked the hand back under the blankets. "No chasing the nurses, Sandburg." 

Blair managed a wan smile, his first of the day. Joel cleared the doorway, and the two of them watched quietly as Blair disappeared into the hallway. 

"He was better that time, Jim." 

"How can you tell? Doesn't seem that way to me." 

"He was tracking better, and his words weren't so slurred." 

Jim shrugged. "If you say so." 

"I do say so." Joel brought him the crutches from the corner where they were leaning. "On your feet, and use your crutches. You haven't had anything in your stomach except bad hospital coffee. Simon's on his way over. I'll call and have him meet us in the cafeteria. 

Jim was a little slow on his ankle, so Simon actually arrived before they did. He had sandwiches, water, fruit and huge wedges of lemon pie loaded onto a tray and waiting. "No talking until you eat something," he said sternly. Jim took a few bites and pushed the plate aside, only to have Simon push it right back. "Finish it off. That's an order." 

Simon stuck to his guns, and told them nothing until the pie was the only thing left. "I finally kicked Rafe and Brown out around three. They're going back out tonight. They're sure they're looking for a frat boy." 

"Tell them I appreciate it," Jim said, picking the meringue off his pie. 

"A lot of guys came in on their day off, too. Megan did the follow-up with the girl." 

Jim nodded. "So what do we actually have?" 

"A partial print that won't turn a suspect and a first name - Terry." 

"Damn. I should have been out there." 

"I don't agree. You put your partner first." 

"What an accomplishment," Jim said, dropping the fork onto the plate with a clang. "This bastard leaves Sandburg for dead and I sat on my ass all day." 

"You did a lot more than that, Jim," Taggart objected. "Blair really needed someone with him today." 

"Your turn. How is he?" Simon asked. 

Jim shrugged. "Improving, I guess." He watched Joel nod his head in agreement. "It's hard for me to tell. He's been in and out all afternoon. He forgets where he is, and why he's here. He got pretty panicky a few times when he couldn't figure it out. Scares the hell out of me, to tell you the truth. He's so smart, and right now, he can't tell you what day it is." Jim picked the fork up and finished tearing the pie to shreds. "They need to watch him, but the worst of the hypothermia is over. He's still cold, and probably will be for awhile. You know how he hates to be cold." 

"He hasn't told you anything?" 

"Not a chance, sir." Jim let his head drop into his hand, overwhelmed with fatigue. "Maybe tomorrow. He's got to be better by tomorrow." 

Joel gave Simon a worried glance. "Jim, the doctors haven't indicated that they're worried about it being permanent. This scan is just a precaution. He's just had a tough day, that's all." 

Jim swallowed hard. "How many tough days is he supposed to have? You know how many antibiotics he's gone through since he drowned? None of them work. He never really gets healthy. And Ventriss's goons gave him more than a black eye. When is it just too damn much?" 

"You're not thinking straight. You've been up - what thirty-six hours? More?" 

"I slept," Jim said. 

"Sure you did. Like you weren't hungry. Of course it seems the worst right now. You need to take a break yourself. Look, we'll go back in, see Sandburg, then you're going home to shower and sleep. I can stay, or we can talk the staff into calling one of us if there's a problem." 

Jim wanted to argue, but he was just too tired. 

* * *

The three of them were waiting when they brought Blair back to his room. Dr. Allen stopped by with the preliminary results, which were encouraging. Blair was agreeable, so they settled in with the Jags game on low. Jim spent most of his time hovering, coaxing juice and pudding down Sandburg's throat whenever possible. He seemed more relaxed, and certainly more alert, but his speech was still a bit slurred. A few gentle questions resulted mostly in blank stares and a guilty frown. 

"Dint see him," Blair mumbled. "Sorry." 

"Not your fault. He hit you from behind," Jim said. "Good thing you have a hard head. The girl, Lucy, thought his name was Terry. Does that help at all?" 

"N - no." 

"Brown and Rafe are doing follow-up. We'll let them do all the hard work, okay." Jim's stomach twisted at the thought Blair's assailant might get away with such a violent assault. He offered one last sip on the juice. "Good job. You got every last drop." 

"Tastes good." Blair noticed the view out the windows for the first time. The early spring sun had already set. In the darkness the lights of Cascade were already glowing. "What tim'?" 

"About eight," Simon said. "You want me to close the draperies before we go?" 

Blair shook his head. "Pr'tty." 

"They are, aren't they?" Simon filled a water glass and arranged Blair's tray by the bed. "I've got your glasses right here, and here's the remote for the TV. What else can we do? They're going to kick us out of here any minute." 

"I'm not going anywhere," Jim said defiantly. Taggart rolled his eyes. Jim stubbornly crossed his arms. "Well, I'm not." 

"Jim, don't even start with me. We already went over this," Simon said sharply. "How about you, Sandburg? You ready for some real shuteye? Your nurse said your scan was good enough they didn't need to wake you every hour." 

"Tir'd," Blair said. He reached an unsteady hand toward Jim. "G'home." 

Jim wrapped the hand in his own. "Do you want me to go?" 

"No. Jus' tir'd. You, too." 

"I'm fine." 

Blair managed a slow shake of his head. "G'sleep, Jim. Please?" The look in his eyes was heartbreaking. 

"I'll be back in the morning. I'll make sure they call me." Jim moved the call button and guided Blair's had to it. "You sure you're okay?" 

"Captain Banks, it's time." 

"Thanks," Simon said, looking up at the nurse. He'd spent some time schmoozing the staff, making sure they understood the situation. "We'll wait outside, Jim." He shut out the lights as he left. 

Jim added another blanket, smoothing each wrinkle carefully, tucking it in meticulously. Blair had been shivering off and on all night, and he probably wouldn't want to bother the nurses if he got chilled. "Drink?" he asked. "Let me do it. You may as well keep wrapped up." He offered the straw and Blair took a few deep gulps. "I'll be back first thing. Now go to sleep." 

It killed him to turn and hobble toward the door, the rubber ends of the crutches squeaking on the tile. He looked back and watched Blair wriggle his shoulders in, eyes closed. 

Simon, true to his word, was waiting with a no-nonsense look and keys in his hand. Leaning heavily on the crutches, Jim gave in. 

* * *

Jim woke with a start, gasping for air. Just a nightmare. Nothing to fret over. 

He settled back on the pillow, breathing hard. Same damn dream, night after night, ever since they'd come back from Sierra Verde. At first, he'd thought he was just reliving the trauma of Sandburg's near-demise. After a month of repetitions, he started paying attention. Slowly, he realized there was a subtle change. 

The wolf didn't come when called. The spirit animal paused, and then drifted away. Making a choice? Taken? Was it a premonition, that Blair would leave, or death would finally claim him? Or maybe Blair would accept his fate rather than fight to come back? Did Sandburg wish he hadn't cheated death in the first place? The creeping doubts gnawed at him. It had been months since the fountain, and the images still haunted his sleep. Was he foreseeing the future or reliving the past? 

Jim checked the clock. Three in the morning, and he was wide awake. He was weighing the options, get up and dress or read, when another thought jolted him. What if Blair was worse? Or the hospital hadn't called, or didn't know? 

Jim flung the covers back, remembering his damaged ankle too late. He fell heavily to the floor, and didn't bother to get up. Instead, he slided across the floor, ignoring the darkness, clutching for jeans and a shirt. The truck, with the recharged battery, would have to start, or he'd take a cab. He'd call a cruiser if he had to. 

Getting in was easy. Hospital security was pathetic. He would have gotten past the nursing staff without the crutches. With them, he was just too damn slow to sneak. 

"Oh, my God, you scared me!" the nursed hissed. C. Carson, R.N. was what her name badge said. 

"Sorry. I'll try not to bother you," Jim said, hoping to bluff his way through. 

"What are you doing here? You can't come in here now." 

"Well, I can," Jim said, leaning on the hated crutches. "I could pull the badge, tell you there'd been a death threat, and we could go through all that crap. You could call your people. I can call my people. Or you could just let me go sit in the dark and stay out of your way. Out of sight, out of mind." 

"Are you nuts?" 

"Probably, but I won't be any trouble if you let me have my way." Jim gave her his most disarming smile, the one that worked over drinks when he first met a woman. "Please?" 

She sighed. "You want some coffee? We make better stuff than the day crew. We need it more." 

Jim nodded. "Unfortunately, I can't carry it." 

C. Carson snickered. "My, my. With your rep, who'd have picked you for the charmer? I have to take his vitals in about ten. I'll bring it then. Go on, get out of here." 

Blair was fine. Sentinel senses gave better readings than the monitors did. Jim could have entered the temp and bp on the chart, but he really wanted to fly under the radar. He slid the best of the two chairs close to the bed. Sandburg smelled like chemicals. Jim read his chart and frowned. New orders for antibiotics at eleven. Concerns about infection; respiratory difficulty. Damn. Why hadn't they called? 

He place a hand on Blair's chest. How many times had he done this, in secret, over the last few months? He could sense the vibrations, the ragged edge to the breaths. He slid his hand lower. There it was again, the stubborn spot, lower left, just below the heart. It was where the bacteria seemed to linger, never quite succumbing to modern medicine. He'd never told Blair he could do this, because he'd have to admit to invading that tiny room under the stairs, night after night. 

No, that decision was final. They would never have that discussion. One admission would lead to another, and that wouldn't happen. Couldn't happen. 

God, how had he ever let it get this bad? 

He knew he wasn't being fair, that Blair was confused, that his own actions were probably making things worse. He knew all those things, and still came to the same conclusion, every time. He left his hand, feeling the uneven rise and fall of Blair's chest, until he heard C. Carson's steps approaching. 

The nurse came and went. Blair stirred, and then slipped back into uneasy sleep. Sitting in the dark, sipping the coffee, which was, in fact, better than the day stuff, Jim sifted through all the scraps, considering each in its turn. 

Wasn't it ironic? That Joel, the man Jim was supposed to be bringing back up to speed as a detective after all those years with bombs and fuses, had gotten it in one. No, you didn't treat your partner the way he treated Sandburg. At least, not your work partner. 

There were other kinds of partners. 

Jim sighed as he felt his internal voices take up their usual positions; the seductive whisper that hoped, even promised happiness, and the harsh voice that harkened reality. Optimism versus the devil's advocate. Once the voices started, he couldn't stop them. The argument raged, night after night, without resolution. 

_Blair's flexible. He dated men until he moved in with you. He wouldn't be angry. He'd listen, hear you out._

Okay, so that was true, in the early days, although he'd never told his researcher friend that he could smell the traces of last night's love, be they male or female. At the time, it seemed an invasion of privacy. Later, well later, it was just complicated. 

In any case, Blair's eclectic tastes in companions had ended when he moved in. It wasn't discussed, and Jim would never had suggested it. Sandburg had just sized up the macho, military image Jim chose to project and made the adjustment. Looking back, it had been the first sacrifice. The first of many. 

_It's not worth the risk. You've been there before, Jimmy, old boy. The world hasn't really changed._

Oh, yes. He knew the risks. He'd been indiscreet before, just once, when it really mattered. He'd been observed during a liaison. He hadn't forgotten the cold terror of being exposed. The mere mention of the words "Conduct Unbecoming", the euphemism used for officers, still brought bile to his mouth. He'd taken that last mission certain Hathaway would follow through on his threats and turn him in. Then he'd been stranded in Peru, and ended up leaving the military anyway. At least it was on his own terms. He'd sworn to himself, never again. Oh, he'd walked on the edge for awhile, when he was in vice, and then slammed the door, horrified at the prospects of living it all again. Hell, ladies were fine. He liked women. He'd dated. He'd seduced. He'd married. He'd chopped the feelings out of his life. At least that's what he believed. 

_Blair cares for you. He sacrifices for you. He takes risks for you. He died for you. Isn't that enough? If that isn't love, what is? Shouldn't you at least ask?_

He could ask. But then the answer might be, "No." He couldn't live with that. 

_Right, Jim, ask him to be a couple. Will it stay a secret? No. Who do you think the gay-bashing bastards will go after? You? Not a chance. You want to get him killed? Again?_

Another direct hit. The members of Major Crime wouldn't care. Even Joel, the most overtly devout, would never put doctrine before the person. But Major Crime wasn't the PD. Others would care, big time. He couldn't protect Blair every minute. The evidence of that was on the bed in front of him. 

So it went, back and forth. The stronger his own feelings got, the more erratic his behavior became. When he'd found out about Alex, a good portion of his outrage was that Alex had plucked the fruit he was too cowardly to take. Had he ever told Sandburg? Not a whisper. Then Blair had died, and Jim couldn't deny what he felt. So he ran, with all the right excuses to Sierra Verde, and created an even bigger mess. 

So he'd reached his current compromise. He'd tell Blair the truth, confess, but not yet. To ask now might pressure Sandburg unnecessarily. He couldn't let it be a bargain; love me or lose your subject. When the dissertation was done, then he'd ask. 

The resolution was harder and harder to keep. He tried to keep his distance, chased a few women, anything to keep passion from sweeping him too far, too soon. His efforts had turned him into a bastard at work. At home, where he just couldn't continue the deception, he was a clinging vine. More than anything, he wanted that damn paper done so he could plead his case and Blair could make a choice, no strings attached. So he'd tried to help things along, cut Blair a little extra writing time, and look what had happened. Couldn't he do anything right? 

If Jim had ever doubted Sandburg's strengths as an anthropologist, he didn't any more. Considering all the really important information was being withheld, Blair was reading the hieroglyphic without the Rosetta stone just fine. More than once, Jim was sure he'd figured it out. Blair was doing a remarkable job of navigating the minefield of conflicting signals. 

That wasn't fair either. The strain showed, in his eyes, in his fatigue, and now, in this. Another close call, too close. Always too close. 

Blair curled on his side, uneasy in his rest, as if he sensed the turmoil of emotions beside him. Jim took the limp hand. Alone and under the cover of darkness, pressed a kiss to one knuckle. 

"Shh. Rest. Love you. I'll make it right. I promise. Just a little while longer, Love." 

Jim lowered the hand, and let the moment pass. 

* * *

Blair blinked and stared at the strange ceiling. _Not home. Home doesn't have ugly ceiling tiles._

_Hospital? Oh, yeah._

"Morning, Chief. About time you woke up." 

"Jim?" The room was filled with bright sunlight. Blair pushed up on one elbow, and Jim immediately produced the bed controls and raised his head. "Oh, man. What time is it?" 

"Seven thirty. Great timing. Your yummy breakfast should be arriving any minute. How does oatmeal sound?" 

"Yuck. And you insult algae shakes." Blair yawned. "Do I get coffee?" 

"No, but if you treat me right, I might give you a sip of mine. Besides, you're going back to sleep as soon as you eat. How are you feeling?" 

"Let's see, that must mean I felt shitty yesterday, but I don't remember it." 

"Just as well. Are you still cold?" 

"No. Well, yes. Now that you mention it, I remember that much. Did I have a mask?" 

"They were giving you warm oxygen." 

"I must have been really out of it." Blair felt along his face, noting the tender spots and bandages. "Can you get me out of here?" 

Jim chuckled. "Now I know you're better. They said forty-eight hours, which would be tomorrow." 

"Crap. Did you go home at all?" 

"Yes, if you must know." Blair's tray arrived, and Jim got up, arranging things so Blair wouldn't have to. 

"What happened to you?" Blair asked, noticing the limp. "Are you okay?" 

"Just a sprain. It's wrapped. If I have to go far, I use the crutches. Joel insisted. Now eat." 

"He was here," Blair said, taking a bite of oatmeal. "I remember him being here." 

"He was with me when we found you." 

Blair put the spoon down. "Tell me." 

"Only if you keep eating. Do you remember Friday night?" 

"Yeah." Blair frowned, as if the act of remembering hurt. "I walked the girl back to the dorm. I dropped my jacket, so I didn't have my keys." He stopped, thinking. "I kinda remember finding the jacket. Then nothing." 

"Then you're doing way better than yesterday. We think the guy waited to settle the score. He smacked you with a rock, knocked you around and dumped you in the reflecting pond. You were hypothermic when we found you. Gave us all a scare, Chief." 

Blair considered that. "I must have come to for awhile. It's kind of fuzzy. I remember it being dark, and cold. Wet. Guess I'm lucky I didn't drown." He shuddered. 

"It wasn't like that," Jim said, trying to head off that particular nightmare. "He wasn't trying to kill you. I think he just didn't want to leave you out in the open, and that seemed like a good spot. You might have just rolled down the slope. If it's any consolation, we had a lot of people on the ground yesterday, trying to find the bastard. If you think you're up to it, maybe I could get one of the artists to come in." 

Blair yawned again. "Sure, I'll try. Man, I'm wiped. It's hard to breathe, too. Am I sick?" 

"Maybe a little. Here, too much too soon." Jim lowered the bed and plopped a straw in the orange juice so Blair could relax and drink at the same time. "Your lungs are acting up a bit. Another infection, I suppose. It's sapping your energy." 

"Damn." 

"Don't sweat it. You're talking in sentences. Yesterday, single words were too much." 

"That bad, huh?" 

"That bad. The best thing you can do is take another nap. Anyway, Simon's handling the investigation. If you're feeling better, maybe I'll slip in, see how they're doing." 

Blair took another long sip and finished off the juice. His eyes drooped, and closed for a bit. Jim was hoping he'd drift off to sleep when the blue orbs popped back open. "Check the athletic department." 

"Just go to sleep. Don't fight it," Jim said gently. 

Blair shook his head. "Uhn uh. Pay attention. He was tall. Built." 

Jim caught Blair's urgency. "Taller than me?" he asked. 

"Two," Blair said. "No more." 

"Okay. Two inches. Six three, maybe. How big? Two hundred?" 

Blair nodded. Fatigue was catching up with him again. Talking was apparently an effort, and he was struggling to concentrate. 

"Bulky? Like a football player?" 

Blair shook his head. 

"Okay, built like me, a shade taller. What about his hair? Short or long? 

"Short. Brown hair, I think. Sorry. But I remember he didn't like it when I took a wild guess and mentioned scholarships. That's how I got him to back off the first time." 

"Nothing to be sorry for, Chief. You did a good thing. Who knows what he would have done to that girl? You did everything right. Just relax and try to get some rest." The blue eyes fluttered again. "Good job, Chief," Jim said soothingly. He allowed himself a soft stroke over Blair's knuckles, wishing it were more, and then pulled back. "You did better than we had a right to expect. Take a nap, and I'll be back to see you later." 

He stayed until his partner's breathing evened out. Despite the flurry of activity, Blair's temperature was still a little low, and his skin felt cold. He got the nurses to bring more heated blankets, and went to find Taggart. 

* * *

Jim tossed his crutches in the back of Taggart's roomy sedan. "Thanks for coming." 

"Until Blair's on his feet, I'm your guy. You said Blair remembered some things." 

"Yeah. The guy had the build of an athlete. Six three, maybe two hundred. Blair said he mentioned scholarships and got the guy's attention. I'm guessing basketball, or maybe a skill position football player." 

"Well, that's progress," Joel said. "Where do you want to start?" 

"Head for Rainier. I'll try to raise someone at Campus Security." 

"Not going to be an easy task on a Sunday morning. I get the impression they're pretty short-staffed even during the busy times." 

"Well, they'd better find someone, because I'm not waiting around until it's convenient." 

They got the answering machine at Campus Security. Jim called the emergency number, and ended up in a shouting match with the operator when she tried to scold him for making an unnecessary call. She finally agreed to transfer him to the duty officer's cell phone. When she tried the transfer, the phone went dead. Swearing, Jim went through the whole routine again. By the time he finally got the poor sap on duty, they were sitting in the main parking lot of Rainier. Jim's patience was shot, and the conversation was terse to say the least. The officer agreed to meet them at the Athletic Training Center, but he was on another call, and couldn't predict how soon he'd actually get there. 

Fifteen minutes soon became half an hour. Jim was furious. "It shouldn't take this long," Jim grumbled. "We could extradite from a foreign country this fast. There must be another way." 

"Until someone shows up, we're stuck," Joel said. "What are our other choices? Who else would know the athletes?" 

Jim noticed a young man carrying a stack of towels. He layered them on shelves behind some sort of a check-in desk and went back for another load. "What about someone who works here?" Jim asked. "I'll be a minute." He abandoned the crutches and limped over. His ankle hurt, but they were just too much trouble. "Hi. Do you work here? Maybe you can help me." 

"Yeah, I work here. As for help, I can try," the young man said, sporting a jaunty smile. He struck Jim as a young version of Sandburg. 

Jim showed him his badge. "Are you a student?" he asked. "What's your name?" 

"Shawn Willard. I'm a freshman. This is my work-study job. I didn't do anything, did I?" 

"No," Jim said with a forced laugh. "We just need some help, and Campus Security is a little slow in coming. We're trying to locate someone. We need a list of all male athletes on scholarship." 

"Uh, I don't know." The young man frowned. "They're kind of picky about stuff like that. It's, like, private or something. I probably need permission from somebody." 

"Look, kid, we're kind of in a hurry," Jim snapped. He wasn't comfortable leaving Sandburg alone at the hospital. He resented every minute this was taking. Giving way to his impatience, he looked over his shoulder at Joel and slammed an open hand down on the counter. "Where's that damn Campus Security?" 

The boy's eyes flew wide open. "I - I'm really sorry, officer," he stammered. "I mean, I want to help and all, but they said they'd fire us for giving out any specific information about players. I need this job." 

The kid looked scared to death. Jim knew he was being unfair. The kid would be more cooperative if he didn't think he was about to be hung from his toes. "Hey, my fault. We wouldn't want to get you in trouble. What's your major?" Jim asked, hoping to put him at ease. 

"Liberal studies, at the moment. It's so hard to decide." 

"I remember having that feeling. What's your favorite class?" 

"Right now, my Anthro class." Shaun's eyes lit up. "Almost everybody takes that class, but I lucked out and got the most awesome teacher. Mr. Sandburg is everyone's favorite." 

"Is that so? Well, Sandburg works with me." 

"Oh, awesome. Are you the detective he goes around with?" 

"Yeah, that's me. That's why we needed some help. Somebody hit him in the head Friday night, with a rock, we think. He's in the hospital." 

"Oh, no. Is he okay?" 

"He'll be fine, but I want to find the guy that jumped him. Sandburg thought he might be an athlete." 

"That's why you wanted the list?" Shaun was getting really upset. "I feel just awful. I'd give you that list in a heartbeat if it was up to me." 

Jim considered that. At least the kid was willing. Maybe there was another way. "Why don't I ask you a more general question? Would that help? Could you answer that?" 

Shaun looked a little more hopeful. "Yeah, I think I can do that. As long as I don't hand you something out of the files." 

"Okay, let's try. We're looking for a guy who moves like an athlete, good build, six three or so, dark or brown hair. Maybe named Terry. Sound familiar to you?" 

"This is the Training Center. There are lots of guys around here who look like that, and a couple of Terry's." Shaun's sunny expression darkened into a frown. "Of course, there's Terry Nixon. Not a nice guy. Actually, he's a major a- uh, jerk. I suppose that doesn't necessarily mean he's guilty. I can't believe anyone would hurt Mr. Sandburg." 

Jim figured it wouldn't hurt to push a little. "You have any idea where he lives? Generally speaking, of course." 

"Yeah," Shaun said, a real edge in his voice. "That doesn't come out of the files. He's in a fraternity. He comes in wearing a tri-beta shirt lots of times." 

"Is that so? Would you know where the chapter house is?" 

"Frat row. The corner of Phillips and Twentieth Avenue." 

Bingo. The exact area Brown and Rafe had been shaking down. What a coincidence. "I guess we'll have to go check it out. Thanks for your help." Jim started to turn and give Joel the news. He didn't get two steps. 

"Detective, can you wait? Actually, I can do better than that. Nixon's in lifting with some of his obnoxious friends. Checked in about twenty minutes ago. He's wearing a blue Jags muscle shirt. You'll find him in the weight room, second door on the right." 

"I think I'll go have a chat with him," Jim said, motioning to Taggart. 

It was a typical college weight room. Metal clanged against metal. Standing at the door, Jim briefly thought about catching Nixon on his way out. A loud shout of laughter drew his attention to one corner. The three young men, one sporting a blue Jags shirt, were smirking at an equally young, attractive girl in exercise clothes. Her face was flushed with anger and she stomped off. She walked right past Jim. 

"Miss? Are they bothering you?" Jim asked, looking toward the group. 

"Not really," she answered. "Just jerks stuck on themselves. Thanks for asking." 

"Jim, I think we should go introduce ourselves," Joel said quietly. 

They wandered over. As they approached, the group noticed them. The nearest one looked Taggart up and down. "You here to lift?" he asked. "It's a little late for you, isn't it, mister?" 

Joel smiled benignly. "Looks are deceiving. Maybe you could show me around." 

Jim admired his calm. Taggart could probably dismember all of them if he so chose. It would be kind of fun to watch. "One of you Terry Nixon?" Jim asked. 

"Maybe. Who's asking?" one of the other men asked. The man wearing the blue jersey tensed. Jim noted his heart rate spike immediately. He also took note of the energy drink he set down beside him. How nice. Clear plastic would be an excellent place to lift a few prints. They wouldn't even need to get his permission. 

Jim showed his badge. "I'm Detective Ellison. We'd like a word..." He didn't finish. Nixon bolted, hurtling the nearest weight bench. Jim, hampered by his ankle, couldn't quite catch him. Later, he was pleased that he hadn't. 

With quickness belying his bulk, Joel caught him in mid-flight. With one large, powerful hand, he grabbed the neck of Nixon's t-shirt and dumped him flat on his back. Nixon lay there, gulping, the wind completely knocked out of him. 

Later, when they had snapped on the cuffs and were ushering him out the door, Joel smiled sweetly and said, "All I wanted was a tour." 

* * *

"So Taggart collars him. Snaps him back like the immovable object. The body keeps going, put the head stayed put." Jim held his arm straight out. "I kid you not, Nixon is horizontal in midair. Joel splats him flat on his back. A better takedown you will never see." 

"Oh, I love it," Blair said. "I would have paid money for the video tape." 

"It was great," Jim said, laughing. "Then Taggart picks him up like a grizzly lifts a cub and gives him a good shake. The other two guys are staring like they'd seen a ghost." 

Blair laughed harder. "More like the Great Pumpkin. Ooh, that hurts. Stop, please. I can't laugh any more." 

"No," Jim said. "It gets better. Nixon just hangs there, still can't catch his breath, and Joel holds him out, and says, real stern, 'You're a rude young man. Your mother taught you better, son.' He dragged him around like a rag doll. We snap the cuffs on and away we go. The whole time Joel's smiling like Santa. Never even raises his voice." 

"Oh, that is priceless," Blair said, practically wheezing. 

Jim leaned forward in the chair, enjoying his friend's genuine amusement. It seemed like forever since he'd last seen a genuine Sandburg grin. "Anyway, we take him back to the station, haul him up to Major Crime, and Simon's waiting for us. He lays it on so thick, we need a shovel." Jim's eyes twinkled. "I think Nixon's always used his size and build to bully people without a lot to back it up. So there he is, camped out in the interrogation room with Simon and Taggart, and me standing at the door. He's made his phone call, and we're waiting for his attorney, and Joel keeps saying, 'Please, Captain, just let me talk to him for a bit. I won't hurt him or anything.' He just keeps smiling, like Nixon's going to be his last meal or something. After ten minutes, the kid is scared spit-less." 

"Oh, man," Blair said, calming enough to catch his breath. "So did Simon let him do the interrogation?" 

"Didn't have to. It's Sunday. By the time the lawyer showed up, we had the prints on the sports drink bottle, and they matched the partials on the rock. Serena had lifted more partials off your jacket and backpack, and they all matched. The girl was there, ready to do a lineup. He caved. Sobbed like a little kid. Blurted out the whole thing. I tell you, it was a damn fine piece of interrogation. I never knew Taggart had it in him." 

"Detective Ellison! I swear, what are we going to do with you?" Blair's nurse was standing at the door, hands on her hip, trying to look severe. "This is a hospital. It was quiet before you came. My patient was resting peacefully, and then you showed up with this standup comedy routine." 

"I'm sorry," Jim said. His attempt at contrition came up a little bit short. The smirk gave it away. "We'll keep it down. Don't you think he looks better?" he asked, hoping to distract her. 

"For a man recovering from hypothermia, a mild concussion, ten stitches and a shiner bigger than Texas, he looks fabulous. Better yet, he occasionally follows directions," she said, coming over to take Blair's vitals. "He eats when I tell him to, and takes naps. Ninety-seven point five," she said, reading the thermometer. That's a lot better than when he came in as the human popsicle." She stared pointedly at Jim. "You, on the other hand, are incorrigible." 

"I'll be good. I promise," Jim said. 

"No, you'll be gone," she said firmly. "I'm sending you home. My patient here is going back to sleep, and I don't want to see your face until tomorrow morning. Blair told me you were up all night. You need to get off that ankle and get some rest yourself. I'm not sending my favorite patient home with a crippled zombie." 

"Crippled zombie? Hey! Are you going to let her pick on me that way, Chief?" 

"Yes," Blair answered. 

"See!" the nurse said triumphantly. "Even he's on my side. You're out. Five minutes, max." She grinned and sauntered out, shutting the door behind her. 

"She's right, you know." Blair reached out and grasped Jim's hand. Jim smiled at the firm, confident grip, so different from earlier in the day. "Thanks, Jim, but you should really call it a day. You were up all night. Call a cab, pick up your crutches and hobble on home." 

"First you, then Taggart." Jim let the hand linger. It would be so easy. Just a few words and he could begin. It wasn't far from "I was worried" to "I have feelings for you", just an easy step. Blair would listen. He wouldn't freak. 

"Yeah, well someone has to." Blair's eyes softened, and his grip shifted ever so slightly. "You know I appreciate it, don't you? I know things have been kind of tense and all. Maybe - well - uh - do we need to talk some things through?" 

Shit. The door was wide open. Just raise his other hand, take both of Sandburg's in his and tell him the truth. Ask him right now. 

Jim reached for the crutches instead. Blair clung to his hand for just a moment, then released it. Jim was secretly glad Joel had insisted on the crutches. If his hands were full, they wouldn't take their own course and reach for more desirable items. 

Blair's expression was neutral when Jim dared meet his eyes again. So he hadn't noticed the moment of hesitation. Just as well. Jim could wait a few more months. Blair would write, Blair would defend, and then he could ask. Jim forced himself back into their usual, safe banter. "Sure." He crossed his arms defiantly. "So who around here is going to toss me out? That little slip of a nurse isn't going to. Are you going to vault out of that bed and give me a hard time?" 

Blair chuckled. "I'll call Taggart. I know he's on my side now." 

Jim dissolved into a gale of laughter. "I surrender in terror. Anything but Taggart, the mean machine. See you tomorrow, Chief." He disappeared with a wave. 

Blair leaned back, his hand still warm from Jim's grasp. There'd been a moment, just a moment when he thought...and then Jim had shifted gears. Maybe he'd dreamed it after all. 

He closed his eyes, and in his memory, heard the voice again. 

_"Just a little while longer, Love."_

Jim's voice, he was sure, and yet he wasn't. He couldn't ask without knowing for sure. He couldn't handle a "no". 

There was nothing to do but wait. 

To be continued in _Phantom_ and _A Seal Upon Your Heart_. 

* * *

End 

Nothing To Do But Wait by Jyllean: Jyllean@hotmail.com  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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